Doctor, Doctor Give Me the News
by wellgoshsh
Summary: And the worst part, the absolutely irrevocably undeniably worst part, its working. Sequel to A Medical Concern.


The good doctor has seen his fair share of stressful situations; he was there when Harry first announced that her preferences lay more with the feminine type (nothing like life changing news to upset the family equilibrium), he invaded Afghanistan (and got a bullet through his shoulder for his troubles), he's been strapped in semtex by an obsessed psychopath, has been kidnapped too many times to count and has come home to his pain-in-the-ass flatmate shooting holes in the wall. Yes, John Watson has dealt with stress, with a steady hand and a badass attitude to boot. Though if he had a choice, John would gladly relive the stress from all of those moments if that meant he could escape his flatmate. His previously mentioned wall-shooting flatmate, who just happened to be on a Let's Seduce John Watson kick. And the worst part, the absolutely irrevocably undeniably worst part, its working.

o0o

_Thank you and Doctor, if you ever need your prostate checked I would be more than happy to help you out_. John's mind seemed to be on repeat, only each time he replayed what Sherlock said, Sherlock's voice somehow got deeper and more seductive than the last time. John knew that no one's voice could actually sound like melted chocolate and sex and that it was just his libido talking but Sherlock's voice was getting pretty damn close. After hearing that enticing baritone murmur that same suggestive sentence for the seventeenth time, yes he was counting, a hard knock on his office door jolted his mind enough to stop it before it reached number eighteen. The handle turned and while the door slowly creaked open all John would think about was Sherlock coming back for a more thorough examination. John couldn't tell if he should be more worried about the sudden rise in his heart rate and the possibility of a heart attack or that he couldn't tell if his increased heart rate was from trepidation or anticipation.

Concerned words reached John's ears but he wasn't focusing enough to actually understand what was being asked of him. Sarah. It was Sarah talking to him, it was her hand on his elbow ushering him to the nearest chair. _Focus Watson, _John let out a small chuckle; of course he'd call himself by his last name in his thoughts.

"John? John, are you alright?" Sarah's mouth turned into a frown. _She's concerned, of course she is. Sarah is so sweet, so loving and understanding and why can't that be enough?, _John thought. He could only imagine how crazy he must look right now… standing in the middle of his office, staring off at nothing and laughing at himself. Yeah, he looks like a complete nutter.

"Sarah" he said maybe a little too enthusiastically. "I'm fine," and of course, being the nutter he is, John actually starts to laugh nervously. _Yeah, that's going to convince people your fine, fantastic job, really._ "Perfect in fact".

"Well it's just that we've tried to buzz you for the past forty-five minutes and you haven't been picking up". Sarah's frown grew deeper. "John, you don't look so good, maybe you should go home for the rest of-"

"NO!" John damn near screamed while simultaneously jumping out of his chair. "I'm fine, really! I want to be here, please don't make me go home" John realized at this point that he was begging, which being out of context for Sarah, seemed, well… crazy, but it's not like that's a new look for him.

"Um, John, is there something you want to talk about? Did something happen, oh stupid question, what did Sherlock do this time?" _Sherlock, oh god, he did quite a lot as a matter of fact. A lot of moaning and some thrusting, you know the usual. _

"Nothing, everything is fine, I just want to get back to work". Sarah nodded vaguely, turned around and started to walk out. Once the door was firmly shut and locked, John slumped against it and tried to rein in his panic attack. After his breathing reached a level that didn't resemble hyperventilating John sat back down at his desk, buzzed in his next patient and continued his list for Tesco's.

o0o

Sherlock knew that John would be home late, he said that he would. Sherlock knew that John was planning on getting what he needed to make dinner after work and that they were out of milk and that someone had to buy food but that didn't make waiting any easier. Sherlock might be clever, brilliant really, the world's only consulting detective and probably the foremost expert in deductive reasoning but the man is not patient. Patience is boring, dull, banal and is only exercised by idiots, so naturally Sherlock is against patience, whether or not it's a virtue. Why John has to be boring and normal and go to the store and make dinner instead of coming straight home and fucking him senseless is beyond Sherlock. Or better yet just fucking him right there in John's office. Again.

"Hmm, I seem to be developing a doctor kink." Sherlock snickered to himself. "No matter, I know just the doctor to do something about that". That is of course if he ever comes back to the flat anytime soon… or at all. _No,_ Sherlock shook his head, trying to get that thought out of his head, _John will come, he always does._

Three cold cases later, all now solved and the killers' names texted to Lestrade, John stumbles onto the steps, struggling with the shopping.

"Don't mind me, I can manage" John grumbles. _Oh, so he's going with the whole 'everything's normal' routine, ugh dull._ Sherlock hummed back and went back to his cold cases. John made dinner and started to set the table. Sherlock moved into the kitchen when everything was ready and sat down, looking at his plate. Rigatoni with chicken in a mushroom and red pepper sauce, his favorite. He raised his head and beamed at John. John grinned back.

"I asked Angelo for the recipe. I know it's your favorite". That, that doesn't happen to Sherlock often. Someone caring for him, though it seemed like it was happening to him more the more John was in his life. Sherlock's smile grew impossibly wider.

"Thank you John", Sherlock hand slid over John's. "It's nice to know that your observational skills are improving". At this Sherlock intertwined his and John's fingers, and left them that way in the middle of the table. John could feel the blush reaching onto his face. Sherlock never said thank you and he's done it twice today. _Maybe I should have sex with him more often; he might actually be polite for a change_. John looked the other way; he can't look at Sherlock without making it very clear what he was thinking about. They ate all of dinner with one hand using a utensil and the other interlocked with the man's across the table. John eventually got up, put the dirty dishes in the sink, right next to a mysterious green/grey blob that he was pretty sure wasn't there that morning, and turned the kettle on.

John got all the way through making tea without shaking, Sherlock's stare was so intense that it had a physical presence to it. As soon as John had his tea in hand and started walking over to his armchair, Sherlock got up and stalked his way over behind John. He wrapped his arms around his waist, just as he did a few hours earlier, and lowered his mouth to John's pulse point just below his ear.

"Hmmmm" Sherlock hummed, "My doctor". John tensed. He, he just, it's not that he didn't but it's not and he… he can't. The mug shattered as it hit the kitchen floor, tea splattering everywhere. "John! Oh John, you're bleeding. Let me see"

"I-I'm fin… I mean I… don't". John untangled himself from Sherlock's grasp and ran up the stairs as fast as possible. If he had looked back he would have seen the look of worry and total crumpling rejection on Sherlock's face. He would have seen Sherlock run his long pale fingers through his unruly hair and bend down to clean off the tea from the kitchen floor and pick up the broken shards of the mug. Had he turned around John would have seen Sherlock sink to the floor and rest his head against the refrigerator door.

o0o

It's been a week since Sherlock decided that asking John to finger-fuck him was a good idea. And, to be fair, it worked quite well. His little 'Oh Doctor Watson won't you make sure I don't have cancer by fucking me' plan succeeded. John complied and Sherlock got what he wanted… for the most part. Everything was going spectacularly well until John's brain caught up with his body and decided that awkwardness was the best way to deal with this situation. John freaked out a bit the first time Sherlock made his move but that wouldn't stop the world's only consulting detective. Oh no, that won't stop him at all. If at first you don't succeed, then try, try again. And try, try again he has, and try and try and try. Sherlock started his operation Get John Watson in Bed by finding any and all reasons to seek medical assistance from John. At first, his aliments were valid, a cut or bruise from fighting a criminal or an acid burn from an experiment gone wrong. As time went on his excuses got less valid and more frequent. He would say whatever he had to in order to get skin-on-skin contact with John, and Sherlock would end each encounter with him practically purring "Thank you Doctor".

Sherlock might have had fun this past week but John Watson has been in his own personal hell. He's been putting in as many hours as physically possible at the surgery, avoided every offer to aid on a case (which he is starting to really miss), has had a constant headache, not to mention a near-constant hard-on, and on top of everything else, he is, god damn it all, in a continual state of sexual frustration. Seriously, John is not in the best of moods. Sherlock's unwavering flirtatious attacks are eroding every ounce of self control that John owns, and he's been in the army for Christ's sake, control and discipline are what John Watson does. All of this John could handle easily, he has been living with Sherlock Holmes for a year after all, if he wasn't so sexually frustrated. Normally this wouldn't have been a problem, John would just have a quick wank and been on his way to a sunny disposition. See the thing is he refuses to give Sherlock the satisfaction. If John gets off, then it will only prove the effect Sherlock has on him. Being as stubborn as he is, John won't even think about any such activities even when Sherlock isn't home… and its driving him crazy. Every time he closes his eyes all John can see is Sherlock. Sherlock's long lean body draped over his examination table. Sherlock spread wide open, begging John to do whatever he wants.

John shuddered, he absolutely is not thinking about Sherlock, no not at all. Oh why is he kidding himself, of course he's thinking of Sherlock, he never stops. God, it's like he's a drug, a high-end narcotic and John is certainly an addict. If he weren't so far gone he'd have to laugh at himself. Some of the fantasies he's come up would seem ridiculous to anyone else, John's most recurring fantasy is of Sherlock in his office dressed in one of those promiscuous nurse Halloween costumes. Sounds stupid, right? Sherlock Holmes, all six feet of him cross-dressing, looking like he belonged in some dime-store porn magazine. Utterly stupid, ridiculous, it's outlandish even…. Okay it's sexy as hell and that distracting little imagine has a tendency to pop up whenever Sherlock says doctor which is now at least twice a day. So you try to deal with that (at least) twice a day with no undignified wank afterward and still be in a cheery mood. Not so easy, is it?

"Johnnnn". John looked up, startled out of his not imagining about how flexible Sherlock is.

Sigh, "Yes, Sherlock?" John knew where this was leading.

"John you're a doctor" Sherlock drawled out the doctor, as he always does. His smug grin widened when he say John swallow.

"Amazing observation, really you should do that for a living" John angrily murmured back, he was not in the mood.

Sherlock's grin faded into a scowl, but he pointedly ignored John's snipe. "I need your help".

Another sigh, John is get really good at those. "What is it now?"

"I have a splinter"

"… a splinter? Are you kidding me? You have a SPLINTER" John couldn't hold it in any longer. He was losing his mind and all because Sherlock had a splinter.

"Yes, John" Sherlock cocked his head to the side, confused. "That's what I said, a splinter. Now if you would be so kind, Doctor and do something about it".

"Do something about it, oh for fuck's sake! Sod off Sherlock". At that John stormed out of the room, grabbing his jacket on the way out. Well… that certainly wasn't what Sherlock was expecting. He thought that John would comply with his request as he did all the other times, this was quite a different reaction. Sherlock slowly looked around the room as if the room itself held the answer. He walked over to the sofa and sat down, his eyes a little glazed over. Next to him on the coffee table his phone buzzed. Sherlock all but flung himself at it, hoping it was John. No, no of course it wasn't. No, instead of being the one person he wanted to talk to it was the one person he never wants to talk, see or be reminded of.

**From: MYCROFT HOLMES**

**I told you that the splinter was **

**a bad idea. **

**MH**

God how he hated Mycroft right now.

**To: MYCROFT HOLMES**

**Piss off.**

**SH**

Sherlock angrily tapped on his blackberry's screen, waiting for the response he knew was coming.

**From: MYCROFT HOLMES**

**If you feel the need to 'have'**

**Doctor Watson I suggest that**

**you stop wasting his time and **

**only come to him with a**

**serious medical issue. And no**

**Sherlock, that doesn't mean**

**harm yourself for an excuse. **

**MH**

**To: MYCROFT HOLMES**

**My advances towards John have **

**been successful thus far without**

**your help Mycroft. And when was**

**the last time you were even in a **

**relationship, and no an intimate **

**relationship with your dessert **

**doesn't count.**

**SH**

_There! That should teach the bastard to try and tell me what to do. _

**FROM: MYCROFT HOLMES**

**Oh yes brother mine, because **

**the splinter excuse worked so**

**very well. **

**MH**

**TO: MYCROFT HOLMES**

**Sarcasm is the lowest form of**

**wit Mycroft. **

**SH**

Sherlock sigh. No matter how much it kills him to admit, Mycroft might have a point. Clearly John was a little fed up with his current aliments; he refuses to call them 'excuses'. Maybe a more valid reason to need John would work better, but as Mycroft pointed out he couldn't harm himself to do it. John would most likely be able to tell if it was self-inflicted and if not Sherlock's sure that Mycroft would tell John if it were.

o0o

Twenty-seven new texts, all from Sherlock, and three missed calls from Lestrade. John rechecked his phone, the number of texts from Sherlock, that was normal, nothing out of the ordinary there but Lestrade had called. He usually called Sherlock, of course, but on occasion he called John if Sherlock wasn't answering. But three, three missed calls, something had to be wrong. He opened his contacts and strolled down to L and dialed.

"Lestrade hey, is something wrong? Sherlock running off and refusing to answer your texts?" John smiled fondly; he can imagine the wary rueful smile that the detective inspector got when Sherlock was being especially difficult.

"No, no Sherlock is with me actually but he's been hurt. Nothing serious, don't worry but he is having issues moving and he refuses to either go to the hospital or let me take him home. He keeps asking for you. Sorry, you know how he is."

"Yeah, yeah I know. Text me the address, I'm leaving now". Having issues moving? Sherlock must have sprained something during a chase, the stupid git.

By the time John got out of the taxi only Lestrade with a few officers were left in the alleyway, along with Sherlock who was sitting on the pavement with his back against the brick wall. Lestrade's mood seemed infinitely brighter when he saw John walking down towards them.

"Have fun dealing with him John, he's feeling the need to be extra petulant today". The other officers started to leave, Lestrade gave John an apologetic smile before following them out to the main street.

"Sherlock, Sherlock are you okay? What happened?" Sherlock raised his head warily and gave John a weak smile.

"Don't worry, it's nothing serious. I was chasing the suspect and I turned around rather too quickly." John lowered himself to Sherlock's level, hands running lightly over Sherlock's upper back up to his shoulder, down his chest and ended at his legs.

"Sherlock you are too tense. You have chronic tension all over, especially in your shoulders and legs. You need to go to a massage therapist".

"I don't like people touching me" _John, I… I don't want anyone but you touching me_ John remembered Sherlock saying, _Oh I can't believe I'm going to do this. _"Sherlock lets go back to Baker and I'll help massage out the kinks, will that be okay?" Sherlock just looked up at John and blinked a few times and offered his hand so that John could help him up. Getting Sherlock in a cab comfortably was a challenge and the entire ride home he leaned against John.

The seventeen steps up to their flat wasn't an easy task either. By the time they reached the couch, Sherlock looked utterly exhausted. John helped him out of his coat and scarf. It wasn't until John started to undo Sherlock's shirt that Sherlock reacted.

"John?" There were few times that he saw Sherlock look confused, and he hates to admit it but it made him feel a bit superior to cause that look on Sherlock's face.

"I need to rub down your shoulders, that's where the majority of the stress is, it's easier this way". John finished with the buttons and slid the dark purple shirt off the pale chest. John snickered, when he really looked at which shirt it was. This shirt has been dubbed by John as Sherlock's purple shirt of sex. Sherlock just raised his eyebrows and let John lead him to sit sideways of the sofa.

John looked at Sherlock before he started. His hand lightly rested over Sherlock's middle back, slowly moving up his limber body, the pressure of John's deft fingers leaving red marks up Sherlock's back. John smiled, he liked the idea of marking Sherlock, of staking his claim. John tried to keep his rhyme steady through Sherlock's moans of pleasure and hisses of pain. He leaned forward, his mouth near Sherlock's ear. "Sit against the back of the couch, won't you" John had to reframe from calling Sherlock luv.

Sherlock did as he was told, sitting back on the couch, his feet firmly planted on the carpet. John slid off the cushions and put himself between Sherlock's legs, sitting on his heels. John's hands found two kneecaps, his thumbs slowly making circles on Sherlock's charcoal trousers as he leisurely moved his hands up Sherlock's thighs. _Oh God, I can feel the heat of his skin. It's like his skin is on fire. Oh Christ, oh Sherlock._

John worked his way up and down and then back up on Sherlock's thighs, ending with his hands near Sherlock's prominent hips. Sherlock looked completely dazed, his breathing harsh and his pupils blown. John leaned upwards, staring at the delectable face Sherlock was making. Stopping near inches from Sherlock's face, John sort of froze.

Sherlock thought his heart was going to explode. This is what Sherlock has wanted. Not just for a week but for months, really every since he first meant John. He just needed to move in a few more inches and…

Why for the love of God was Sherlock's phone not on vibrate? And who the hell is calling him now?_ Oh there is no God in this world. Dammit!_

Sherlock dared not to move. Maybe they could just ignore the hateful ringing until it went away, like it never happened. John blinked once, twice and moved a few inches back. "You should get that"

"No" Sherlock breathed out "No, its fine, I'll get it later"

"No, You should really get that Sherlock" John sat back, got up and stretched. He gave Sherlock a sad smile and went to his room.

The phone's light went out, and the ringing ceased. Sherlock's shoulders slumped, his arm swung down and retrieved his phone.

**From: MYCROFT HOLMES**

**John was right my dear brother.**

**I'll make an appointment for a**

**massage therapist on Monday**

**for you.**

**MH**

Sherlock was too tired and disappointed to bicker at Mycroft for what he just did.

**To: MYCROFT HOLMES**

**I hate you.**

**SH**

o0o

"John, I need you". Oh not again, John recognized that voice, that was Sherlock's come hither voice, the one he had been using to try to seduce John for the past week.

"What now, Sherlock? And where are you?"

"Bathroom" John poked his head into the bathroom, mentally preparing himself to find a naked Sherlock in the shower with body washing wanting help soaping up. _I swear to all that is holy in this world John H. Watson stop that train of thought right now._ Nope, all safe…. Well I say safe. Sherlock was in his blue silk pajama bottoms with a light grey t-shirt. His legs were spread, his hair was a mess and was sporting a petulant little frown that John found cutely endearing. Sherlock looked absolutely fuckable.

"John I have something in my eye, I assume it's an eyelash. It's been driving me up the wall. Can you please get the bloody thing out?" Sherlock's annoyed tone told John that he was completely serious.

John smiled fondly back at his utterly insane flatmate. "Sure". John moved over to Sherlock, bent down so that he was just a little shorter than Sherlock. John's hand moved over to Sherlock's right eye, carefully opening it wider and gently removing the eye lash that was caught there. John's thumb wiped away the tear that was running down Sherlock's cheekbone. The hand fell away and as John started to rise, Sherlock reached for the back of his neck, right where there was a hint of hair.

"John please, don't leave." Sherlock's voice started to tremble. John moved back down to where he was kneeling. "You're more. You mean more. You're more than the shopping and the cleaning. More than crime scenes. More than my doctor and flatmate. John… John I-I think I… I mean" Sherlock shook his head. He didn't know to articulate this feeling into words. He didn't even properly understand what he was feeling, feeling for John. In a desperate move, Sherlock used his hand on John's neck to guide their foreheads together, so that maybe by having their skin touching he would be able to communicate what he needed to. "Understand, please".

And John did. He understood what Sherlock was trying to say, and he felt the same. Even though he wanted so desperately to hear Sherlock say it, he took pity. Let's be truthful. Sherlock isn't the brightest detective at the Met when it comes to emotions. Well, non-crime related emotions.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's shoulders in one swift motion and brought their lips together. The feeling was overwhelming, Sherlock's mouth opened and he tugged at John's neck, trying to deepen the kiss. Their lips slide together perfectly, a mash of teeth and tongue and heat and passion. Nothing around them matters. It was just this. This give and take they had going with their mouths, their tongues, their emotions. John pulled back, just far enough to be able to murmur into Sherlock's swollen cupid-bow lips.

"You seem to have a lot of medical issues that need to be addressed, Mr. Holmes"

"Yes, it seems so Dr. Watson, and what are you planning to do about that?" John smirked; Sherlock definitely had a doctor kink. And John was certainly going to use that to his advantage.

"Well I think a full body examination will be necessary". Sherlock's already heaving breath hitched.

"And what exactly does that entail Doctor?"

"Well we should check your stamina, flexibility, gag reflexes". Yes, gag reflexes, it had to be done. Sherlock put John through utter hell for weeks. John needs to be the one in control, the one calling the shots.

"Gag reflex, hmm yes I think we should start there Doctor". Sherlock plunged for John's mouth, then pushed away for long enough to stand and start for his room, dragging John with him.

"No, my room. Further from Mrs. Hudson".

"Hmm, do you think this examination will be rather loud?" Sherlock eyes sparkled with mirth, with a grin to match.

"Oh God yes". John dragged Sherlock in for another searing kiss. They somehow managed to climb the steps to John's room while simultaneously snogging the life out of each other. With the stairs conquered and the door shut clothing was ripped off and flung in all directions.

"What? No examination table?" Sherlock smirked. John let out a breathless laugh.

"No sorry, though I do have a bed"

"The bed will work just fine" Sherlock's smirk widen, until it was a predatory grin. Sherlock pushed John onto the bed, climbed on top of him and nibbled, licked and sucked at his neck. Sherlock only moved down John's body once a red love bite was displayed on a part of John's neck that would be noticeable regardless of what shirt he wore. An affectionate kiss to the twisted flesh that scarred John's shoulder that showed that Sherlock cared. Down further to John's nipples, which Sherlock rather enjoyed to lick and suck on. Further still until Sherlock could press a kiss to the head of John's cock. Another kiss, a lick and another. God the man was such a tease.

Finally only after John thrust his hand into Sherlock's surprisingly soft curls did Sherlock close his lips fully around John's leaking cock. "Oh" John groaned, "Oh God Sher-sherlock your mouth." Sherlock hummed his approval, he knew just how much John loved his perfect cupid-bow lips. If John thought he was still calling the shots and in control the man was sadly mistaken.

Sherlock's tongue licked and swirled around John, sucking just the perfect amount. God he was good at this. John summoned all his control so that he wouldn't thrust into Sherlock, he can't quite say that he had the same control over the sounds he was making. The sounds; the moans and whimpers, groans and growls were driving Sherlock mad. He could come from the sounds of John alone. Just when John was getting close to the edge Sherlock pulled back, dragging his teeth lightly and making an obscenely erotic popping sound as he released John.

Sherlock slithered back up to lay on John, reaching over to fumble around in John's bedside table. With lube in hand, Sherlock wrapped his lean leg around John's and flipped them, so that Sherlock was the one being pinned to the bed. "J-John, I want, oh God I want…"

"Yes Sherlock, whatever it is, my answer's yes"

"Fu-fuck me. Oh John, J-John I need you to fuck me, please. Please fuck me" Oh that went straight to John's cock. John dived down to kiss Sherlock fervently.

"Yes, oh god yes Sherlock". John distracted Sherlock with kisses while he took the lube and slicked up a finger and slowly pushed at Sherlock's entrance. Sherlock tensed up, gasping at John's finger inside him.

"Are you okay? You have to tell me if it hurts, okay luv, you have to tell me". Sherlock's heart quickened at the endearment John subconsciously called him.

"I'm fine, more than fine actually" Sherlock gave a sheepish smile. "Please continue".

John touched his forehead to Sherlock's and laughed breathlessly. "Okay, luv" John's finger was all the way in, just long enough to brush against Sherlock's prostate. "Oh, there, John, oh John". John slipped in another finger, and after a while another. Sherlock was thrusting back, squirming against the pleasure. "Now, John, oh god now. I need your cock in me now". Whatever discipline he learned in the Army went completely out the door at that request.

John slicked himself up and positioned himself and Sherlock. Sherlock's legs were wrapped around John's waist, John's cock just pressing into Sherlock's entrance. John looked down, that was a mistake. He was taken back by the sight of his cock pressed up against Sherlock's pearly white skin.

Sherlock has waited long enough, he's been pining after John for months and now that he's got him in bed there was no way he could wait any longer. Sherlock thrust up impatiently.

John groaned. "Are you trying to kill me? God Sherlock, I'll move just stop thrus-Oh god, thrusting". John placed his hands on Sherlock's hip bones and thrust up. God, Sherlock was tight, oh and that heat. In no time he got the perfect rhyme with the perfect angle in which he managed to hit Sherlock's prostate on every thrust. Sherlock threw his head back, arching off the bed.

"J-John, I am going to, I, ohhh Johnnnnn I'm going to co-". John kissed down Sherlock's neck, "It's alright luv, I've got you. Come for me". Sherlock's whole body shook, his head thrown back, his body arching, he came screaming John's name.

Sherlock's breathing leveled out a little, John's thrusts became more erratic, more uncontrolled as John lost himself in sensation, in Sherlock. Sherlock held John throughout his orgasm, whispering sweet nothings into his lover's ear.

Once cleaned up, Sherlock curled up around John, resting his head on the other man's chest. Lips ghosted over John's chest right above his heart. "Thank you Doctor". And with that Sherlock drifted off to sleep.

o0o

**From: Mycroft**

**I suppose this is the point where**

**I threaten you if you ever hurt**

**my brother. **

**MH**

**To: Mycroft**

**I'm pretty sure you've already**

**done that, before I moved in**

**to Baker. **

**JW**

**From: Mycroft**

**I suppose I have. Honestly John**

**I am a bit surprised that Sherlock's,**

**let's say unorthodox, courting worked**

**on someone as practical as you.**

**MH**

**To: Mycroft**

**Well you know how Sherlock**

**gets when he wants something.**

**JW**

**From: Mycroft**

**Don't hurt my brother.**

**MH**

**To: Mycroft**

**I don't plan to, I am his**

**doctor after all.**

**JW**


End file.
